Sophism

The ego stimulates the art of being almost right, just wrong enough to win the moment for the night.

It wears a suit, with tie, convinced, its logic never lies, unflinching, winced.

Inferior errors have attitude to spare, to substitute meaning with a flair.

The Sophist teaches illusions trade, to seek approval where conclusions are made.

They charge to make the weaker seem the stronger, and teach the lie to live a little longer.

Half-baked knowledge holds some truth, naive conclusions have meaning too, in youth.

People don't want subtleties realized, they're happy with pink perception tenderized.

They want to win, they want applause, truth can hurt — it's deep and slow, with pause.

Here is its recipe, funny and profound: Take a truth, trim it round. Add a maybe, disguised as must, with a lot of "therefore" and a pinch of "trust."

Check your phone, your feed, your news, your politics, your favorite views:

Everyone agrees, so it must be true, if you question that, what's wrong with you?

They are famous and rich, so they must be right, advertising needed egos' light.

Sugar-coated logic with hidden bricks, attention-seeking gimmicks, clever tricks.

Eristic is not to seek, but to score, sophistry is not to open, but to close the door.

Sophism works because of our desire, reaching for presumption, thinking dire.

Not truth, but comfort; not light, but heat, we want to be told we are complete.

The liar needs your wish to conspire, You must want the lie to climb higher.

Truth is naked, clumsy, slow, in the simplicity of "I don't know."

Sophism is dressed, and speaks so fast, "I know for sure" — until the last.

In the end, funny, profound and cold, Sophism cannot be beaten by being told.

Only by that old, boring, joint-knowing art, where wisdom is the knowledge of the heart.

Humanity's measure is to see things as they are, clear, and see things as they are not — to prevent the measure of fear.

The master of illusion glazes evil as being of service, only to establish some greedy purpose.

Trusting only the divine love, supreme, instantly, defies all manipulated sophistry.